


dig up her bones, but leave the soul alone

by Ariesgirl666



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe -Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, More tags will be added as necessary, Supernatural Elements, background jdonica, extreme sapphic vibes, ghost lesbian chandler, no murder bros in this one, some blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-16 02:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13627152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariesgirl666/pseuds/Ariesgirl666
Summary: “Well if it isn’t my third favorite Heather.”Duke looks at the bathroom mirror, into a pair of shockingly familiar blue gray eyes.“Oh my god. Heather.”“The one and only,” Heather Chandler says with a brittle laugh. “Well, not exactly.”Or, in which Heather Chandler is an actual ghost, and not a figment of Veronica's guilt, and Heather Duke gets caught in the middle.





	1. let her find her way to a better place

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Bones" by MS MR. It's also -partially -what inspired this fic. I promised myself I wasn't going to write another Heathers fic until the next chapter of "i see no tragedy" was up, and yet...things happened.

Heather Duke wipes the remains of tears off her face. She hadn’t cried, not really, but they looked good on camera.

She strips off her stockings and heels, unpins her hair, and heads to the shower.

“Well if it isn’t my third favorite Heather.”

Duke looks at the bathroom mirror, into a pair of shockingly familiar blue gray eyes.

“Oh my god. Heather.”

“The one and only,” Heather Chandler says with a brittle laugh. “Well, not exactly.”

“You’re dead.” Duke says numbly.

Chandler’s reflection giggles, toys with mirror-Duke’s hair. “Don’t you catch on fast. _Nice_ speech at the funeral by the way.” Her voice pitches up, mocking. “ _‘Heather was my best friend. We used to try on each other’s clothes and stuff. I’m really going to miss her._ ’ I teared up a bit, not going to lie. Have you considered a career in theatre?” Heather delicately wipes a single tear from her flawless skin. With horror Duke registers that the tear isn’t water, but fluid dyed an artificial blue.

“What are you doing here,” she whispers, throat dry. “You can’t...you were _gone_...why the fuck can’t you leave me ALONE?!” The last part comes out as a scream as she hurls her glass at the mirror, shattering it.

Duke catches her lone reflection in a mirror shard. Chest heaving, beads of blood on her skin, eyes equal measure defiant and terrified, she looks like all she needs is a white dress and she could be on the cover of a trashy Victorian romance novel. There’s a moment of silence.

“Heather, Heather, Heather,” Chandler tuts from behind, grabbing her shoulders and slamming Duke against the bathroom door with strength that the 5’4 girl should not possess. One of Chandler’s ( _ice cold_ ) hands lifts Duke’s chin critically.. She takes the edge of the red silk bathrobe she wears and, with agonizing gentleness, wipes the blood off Duke’s face. Chandler smiles almost maternally into Duke’s eyes, but her own eyes are dead and cold. “You should have known it takes more than a cup of liquid drainer to get rid of _moi_. Now.” Chandler picks up a deadly sharp mirror shard, examines herself in its reflection. She doesn’t seem to notice as its edges bite into her skin, and she bleeds Drano, staining Duke's marble floor.

“Get dressed, bitch. We’re going to solve my murder.”


	2. lost in the pages of self-made cages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And what is that supposed to mean, anyway? That somebody I like did it? Somebody you liked?”  
> Chandler laughs. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter titles are from "Bones" by MS MR  
> This takes place somewhere in between "Me Inside of Me" and "Blue", or for movie fans, shortly after Heather's funeral.

_“What_ did you just say?”

“I said get dressed. If I have to see you in that dress another second I’m going to tear it off you myself.”

Much as she hated to admit it, Duke still instinctually followed the red Heather’s order. She walked over to her closet, not taking her eyes off of Heather’s ghost for a second. “M-murder?”

“That’s what I said. Ew, I hate that skirt. Wear the plaid.”

Heather did.

“And leave your hair down. It looks better that way.”

“You committed _suicide_ , Heather. We saw your note.”

“Did you.” Heather smiles. It’s not a nice smile. It shows all of her teeth, still perfect and white, but if Duke narrows her eyes and concentrates hard, she can see a flicker of something black and rotting just behind those bright red lips. “And if I _were_ to commit suicide, you really think I’d give up my _cars_ ? My _shoes_ ? To help some _ghetto moms on crack_? God, Heather, weren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

“Somebody planted your suicide note,” Duke says numbly.  
Heather mock-applauds. “Give the kid a trophy!”

Heather stares at her feet (her shimmery green nail polish is chipping, the last time she did her toenails was at a sleepover with Heather and Heather -and Veronica, of course.)

“Who?”

“Who would want to kill me?” Chandler stalks around the room as if she owns it. She sits down on Heather’s bed, flips through _Catcher in the Rye_ before tossing it aside in favor of _Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Collection_.

“Who wouldn’t want to kill you,” Duke mutters despite herself, and Chandler raises a daggered eyebrow but doesn’t reply in favor of flipping through the pages.

“God, Heather, it  might be easier to make a list of people who like you!” Duke bursts out, and for a second she thinks she sees hurt flash across Chandler’s face, but the second passes and she’s certain she’d imagined it.

" _It is of the first importance not to allow your judgement to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to me a mere unit—a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning_ ,” Chandler quotes. “Huh. The dead white guy is right. Maybe I should have read more when I was alive.”

“Give me that!” Duke snatches the book and places it on her desk. “And what is that supposed to mean, anyway? That somebody I like did it? Somebody _you_ liked?”   
Chandler laughs, rising _-unfairly gracefully_ \- from the green comforter and standing by Duke’s bookshelf, skimming her fingers through the wood. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Heather McNamara?” As soon as Duke says it, before even, she knows it isn’t true, but it’s better than the other possibility.

Chandler snorts. “Please. As if she possesses any independent thought process. Besides, _she_ wouldn’t kill me. Now, stop acting like a pussy and say what we’re both really thinking, Heather.”   
“Veronica.” Duke says, quietly.

Heather Chandler examines her reflection critically in Duke’s closet mirror. Standing in the green bedroom, her cheeks have just a hint of red flush and her eyes sparkle, her curls lush and springy and her skin soft. But in the mirror, her skin is pockmarked and gray, her hair thin, eyes clouded over, her stunning features eaten away by time and death. Despite this, Heather examines the rotting apples of her cheeks and smiles grimly. Duke gags quietly, and at the noise, Heather’s reflection reverts back to match what Duke sees in front of her -a healthy, alive 16-year old.

“Why would Veronica kill you?” Duke says.  
“Well, to be fair, it wasn’t just Veronica. It was her psycho boyfriend as well.”

This doesn’t surprise Duke. “Did her boyfriend make her do it?”  
Heather Chandler throw her head back and laughed her iconically cruel laugh. That was answer enough. “And murder’s one thing,” she continues, proud and angry. “But getting rid of my _stuff_? That’s one step too far.”

Duke snorts at the absurdity of it all -she wishes it were just a really intense hallucination, but her face still stings where the mirror shards cut it, and she still feels Heather’s cool fingerprints on her jaw.

“You look passable,” Chandler says, turning her attention back to the alive Heather. “Let’s go, Nancy Drew.”  
“But it’s midnight!” Heather D protests, and Chandler casts her a withering look.

“Did you say something Heather?”

“No,” Duke mutters, glaring at her shoes. “Where are we going, Heather?”  
“Veronica’s house,” Heather Chandler says. “Where else?”

**Author's Note:**

> future chapters will be longer


End file.
